though i know he loves me
by closingdoors
Summary: Post-Always. 'Every day she drowns more in it all. Every day she finds a new way to love him, a new way to fill the hollowness in heart with a love that hurts.' COMPLETE.


_I hoped that he would love me,_  
_And he has kissed my mouth,_  
_But I am like a stricken bird_  
_That cannot reach the south._

_For though I know he loves me,_  
_To-night my heart is sad;_  
_His kiss was not so wonderful_  
_As all the dreams I had._

The Kiss- Sara Teasdale.

* * *

**Disclaimer: I own nothing and you should be grateful for that.**

* * *

They play this endless game, or a dance- Side-stepping the truth and spinning away from each other from time to time, only to twirl right back into awaiting arms like it's something natural, easy. That's them. That's what they've always done. What they've always been. There's been nothing wrong about that before, it was just how they _were._

The sad thing is that they still _are_ this endless dance. She curls beside him in his bed, as if he's her only source of warmth, and sighs his name when they make love, as if he's the only one she's ever known. But then morning comes around and they do the dance. Again. Over and over, until they crumble back into the bed where they can barely make sense of this jumbled dance.

And this dance is getting so tiring. So repetitive. He keeps missing a step, stumbles over- her too. Like now they're not quite sure what they're supposed to be, like there's something missing in the choreography that they can't figure out and they can't be anything else but this dance when it's so wrong. So, so wrong. They both _know. _But they continue to ignore it, allow themselves to avoid the truth, allows her to push him away for a while until they both cave in. Again.

But he knows what's really wrong here.

He loves her too much.

He loves her too much and not enough and so intensely it hurts. It hurts when she yells rage-filled words at him; when she looks at him as if she's finally going to let whatever this is go; when she falls back into his arms and claims his mouth in a feral passion like no other he's ever known; when her eyes roll back into her head and the stars burn too brightly in his eyes. It always hurts. This strange, aching tightening in his lungs and his heart that he can't stop, can only stand by and watch as every day the aching grows more and more, lets her take every damn inch of his heart and poison it with her own.

They need to stop this. Need to finish this, or at least find a suitable rhythm in this dance.

Because he loves her too much and not enough and so intensely it hurts.

* * *

Castle never says a thing about how wrong it is, when she returns to his loft after another fight and ignoring his calls for two days to claim him as her own. He never says a damn thing about how wrong it is. Even when he divests her of her clothes, kisses every inch of her skin like she's worth something more than she is, holds her so tightly it hurts- It hurts. And he's suffocating her with all this love. All this tender, selfless love that she has ignored for so long.

And she loves him too much.

Every day she drowns more in it all. Every day she finds a new way to love him, a new way to fill the hollowness in heart with a love that hurts. Every time she goes back to him and he holds her in the way that's warm and tender and suffocating and aching, she finds a new way to love him. When he sleeps, she whispers these words in his ears, too afraid to tell him when he's awake. Too afraid of his reaction, of her own untrustworthy feelings and her constant need to be with him.

She knows he hurts too. She sees it in his eyes every time she comes back, or when Alexis leaves the room the moment Kate's there, or when Martha smiles towards Kate and raises her glass. Sees it in the lines of his body when he's pressed against her, when his lips tremble against hers like it hurts, when his hands grip her too tight like he's afraid she's not really there at all.

She sees it all.

Kate wants to stop. Wants to make all the hurting go away, to soothe the creases of a frown on his forehead away, and to unravel her heart from his own, and leave him happy.

But she loves him too much to stop.

* * *

This time, when she comes back, it's the last time she ever does.

He takes his time. So does she. Their usual rhythm isn't there, everything is out of place and awkward and she cries out of character, seemingly shocked by it. Their lips clash and their salty tears mix with their tongues as her nails dig into his back too harshly, his hands gripping her waist too tightly.

Then it's over. Then it's done.

You close the book. You say goodbye.

She kisses him on his doorstep for the last time, flat shoes on so she has to lift on her toes in the way he gets a strange satisfaction from, and she whispers over and over again that she's sorry. When she turned up, all those weeks ago, drenched to the bone and ready for him, them, everything- She thought it could work. She thought they were always.

"I love you." He tells her, words he's said every time she leaves. He wishes he could find the words to save them.

"I love you too." She whispers, words she's never allowed herself to voice before.

She leaves him with love on his doorstep, drowning in her and everything they've ever been.

* * *

The next time, even though it's over, he goes to her. It's three weeks later and she opens the door looking slightly off-balance, eyes slightly hazy. When they settle on him, she sighs, pulls him into her apartment and kisses him with regret. Whispers apologies into his skin, presses kisses above his heart, lets her tears drip down onto his chest.

And that's enough for now.

It's enough for always.

* * *

That night's their last night together, cocooned in the darkness of her apartment with nothing but burning love that can never be swirling so heavily in the air she can't breathe and suffocates all over again.

* * *

Two years and one book later, _Raw Heat _is a best-seller. The last in the series, and every reader is going crazy for the end of Rook and Heat.

No-one understands the dedication. Not properly. Not even Alexis or Martha who've been witness to this strange love story they once were.

He hopes she does, though. Even signs the copy he sends to the address she moved from years ago.

_To Kate. Thank you. _


End file.
